


A Choice In This

by verily_i_say



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Non Consensual, Physical Abuse, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verily_i_say/pseuds/verily_i_say
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey sits on the couch where Ian Gallagher last fucked him, where his father beat him senseless, where The Russian ‘fucked the faggot out of him’, and listens while they agree on the details for the ceremony. The function room at VFW on 63rd St, 7pm Saturday, two weeks from now. Blue Carnations and Baby’s Breath. Six bridesmaids, all other girls from the spa, wearing pink. Her parents can’t be there, flights from Volsk are too expensive. She might wear a short wedding dress, she hasn’t decided yet.  Mickey doesn’t offer any suggestions, it’s pretty clear none of this is up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Choice In This

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Set from S03E06-E08, but might spoil up to and including S03E11  
> Edited 4/4 to fix a small detail I missed in the show.
> 
> Consider yourself warned, this is 1100 words of bleak, unadulterated, unbetaed feels.

The Russian has been making enthusiastic noises under him, but all Mickey can hear is Gallagher behind him, hands in front of his face, trying, and failing, to breathe evenly.

He finishes as fast as he can; it could barely be considered an orgasm for how shitty it feels. The Russian didn’t come, but she’s putting on a good show like she did. Mickey pulls out of her and heaves back onto the couch, ass cheek stinging from the contact on the bullet wounds and head swimming from exertion and the repeated blows with the butt of the gun. Gallagher isn’t looking at him. Mickey doesn't blame him.

The Russian looks at Gallagher and then back at Terry. She doesn’t say anything, but he gets her meaning.

“Nah, you don’t fuck this little faggot. THIS faggot is going to get his queer ass out of my house in the next 20 seconds, or I’m going to break off every piece of him one by one.”

Terry has the gun trained on him again. Gallagher scrambles to his feet, then hesitates, looking at Mickey out of the corner of his eye.

“What the fuck did I just say to you? You don’t even look at him or I’ll fucking put you in the ground. In fact, I don’t ever see you again. Understand me, you homo piece of shit?”

Gallagher flicks his eye to Mickey for a split second, then nods once to Terry, who gestures him out the door with the gun. He grabs only his jeans and shoes from the floor; his shirts still lost somewhere in the chaos of the living room.

Mickey hears the front door open and close, then tracks him the sound of him running down the sidewalk, wants to make sure he gets out of here without Terry changing his mind. Without bringing Gallagher back inside and killing him in front of Mickey, just to prove the point. He wouldn’t put it past him.

When The Russian stands, Terry spots the Ben-Wa beads pressed into the seam of the couch. In the few seconds before Terry realises what they are, Mickey’s first thought is that now his dad is going to actually kill him. His second, that he’s glad Gallagher got out before he had to see it.

“Ain’t enough for you to take another guy up your ass, you gotta stuff a fucking pervert dildo up there too? What kind of faggot ass whore are you that you bring this kind of AIDS shit into MY house?”

Mickey gets a half a dozen kicks to the ribs and kidneys and more than one to the face before he’s dragged by his neck into his room. Terry smashes his bong collection and his one Little League trophy as he pulls shit off the shelves, tears doors off the cupboards, hauls the mattress off onto the floor.

He finds the butt plug and the magazines.

The Ben Wa beads are solid, heavy and Terry swings them until skin is nothing but a mess of wet, red pain. Mickey’s vision is swimming by the time Terry orders The Russian to fuck him again. He’s flat on the floor, barely half hard and keeps slipping out of her as she tries to ride him carefully, her hands braced lightly against ribs he’s pretty sure are broken.

Terry aims a light kick at his head, calls him a faggot again. Blood stings his eyes and runs across his chest, sticking him to the linoleum. She starts putting on a show again, yelling out like he’s giving her the fucking of a lifetime, then seizes up in the worst fake orgasm Mickey’s ever seen. At least Terry seems to buy it.

He blacks out before he can catch his breath.

 

 

11 days later, Terry corners him in the kitchen. Mickey flinches away from him, then tries to hide the fact he did. Terry fucking hates signs of weakness.

“Svetlana’s pregnant. “

It takes him a long second to even understand who his father is talking about.

“You’re going to do the right thing and marry her.”

Terry holds his eye for a uncomfortably long time. It’s not a request.

Mickey stares without seeing anything, but nods eventually.

 

 

It’s awkward, the next time he sees her again. She comes over to the house, Terry’s planned the whole thing, he even clears most the beer cans from the living room floor and puts out a plate of fucking Chips Ahoy, like he’s suddenly trying to impress her, or some shit.

“You remember my son, Mickey?”

Like they were properly introduced last time. Like she’d forgetten the time she fucked a half-beat-to-death teenager while his dad watched them and the guy who’s been fucking him for the last 2 years didn’t.

He nods at her and she smiles back blandly. She’s tall, taller than him, older too, maybe mid-twenties. Her English is stilted and patchy at best.

She already knows about the plan to get married, Terry probably filled her in. Mickey’s just glad he doesn’t have to do any actual proposing, he’s not sure he could get the words out. She’s says she’s excited, though the enthusiasm doesn’t quite seem to make it to her eyes. It’s clear that the wedding means a Green Card for her, so at least he knows what she’s getting out of the arrangement.

Mickey sits on the couch where Ian Gallagher last fucked him, where his father beat him senseless, where she ‘fucked the faggot out of him’, and listens while they agree on the details for the ceremony. The function room at VFW on 63rd St, 7pm Saturday, two weeks from now. Blue Carnations and Baby’s Breath. Six bridesmaids, all other girls from the spa, wearing pink. Her parents can’t be there, flights from Volsk are too expensive. She might wear a short wedding dress, she hasn’t decided yet. Mickey doesn’t offer any suggestions, it’s pretty clear none of this is up to him.

She chain smokes while they’re talking; there are fresh track marks in her arm. Shit, 3 weeks pregnant and she’s probably already fucked up the kid. If she hasn’t, Mickey’s pretty confident he’ll manage to, somehow. Another in a long line of Milkovich fuck ups.

As he’s walking her out, Terry makes a joke about getting discounts at the spa. 

“Seeing as we’re going to be family soon, I guess it’ll have to be one of the others from now on.”

Mickey grimaces at the unwanted detail, though that doesn’t make things much more fucked up than they already are. He tastes blood as the pull on his mouth splits his lip open again.

Under Siege is still sitting on top of the DVD player.


End file.
